


Opening Negotiations

by youcouldmakealife



Series: Impaired Judgment (and other excuses) [16]
Category: Original Work
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-12
Updated: 2018-03-12
Packaged: 2019-03-30 12:07:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13951233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youcouldmakealife/pseuds/youcouldmakealife
Summary: “Don’t you want to watch the movie?” Bryce asks.“Um,” Jared says. “Not really?”“Then why’d you—” Bryce says.“I kind of thought this was a ‘Netflix and chill’ thing,” Jared says.





	Opening Negotiations

Bryce pulls into the parking lot of a condo that’s about as downtown as downtown gets, and considering that was Jared’s leading theory, he feels kind of pleased with himself. Though, honestly, he’s feeling kind of pleased with himself in general right now: he somehow survived the most awkward breakfast of all time (brief status as a mortified ghost aside), convinced his boyfriend to let him come over (and Jared can’t even _think_ the word boyfriend right now without wearing that stupid smile that he’s been sporting practically full-time lately), and he’s once again right. Never mind all those other suspicions Jared had about Bryce at the start. He was clearly working from a faulty framework.

Speaking of incorrect theories, Jared had kind of wondered if Bryce didn’t want Jared coming over because his place was a pig-sty — when he wasn’t wondering if it was something to do with him, that Bryce just like…wasn’t interested despite the considerable evidence to the contrary — but surprisingly, it’s really neat, the only things out of place a pair of running shoes kicking around the front hall and an empty plate on the coffee table. 

It is, in fact, _suspiciously_ neat. Like, it looks like one of those generic show rooms, not a speck of dust anywhere, the only difference really that instead of pastel paintings or whatever, Bryce has memorabilia on the wall — a Spokane jersey, a Team Canada Juniors one beside a silver medal, a Flames one, the number on it 12 instead of the 94 he wears, so presumably from his draft, and then a bunch of framed pucks that are probably from milestones. It’s half living room, half museum dedicated to the awesomeness of Bryce Marcus, and Jared is 100% going to chirp him for it in the near future, but right now he’s caught on the whole neat thing.

“This place isn’t a mess,” Jared marvels.

“You don’t have to sound so surprised,” Bryce complains.

“Did you have a cleaner come in yesterday or something?” Jared asks.

Bryce mumbles something.

“What was that?” Jared asks.

“She came in Thursday,” Bryce says, still in a mumble.

That makes way more sense than Bryce being a neat freak. Even after seeing his car, Jared doesn’t think he’d believe that. Bryce’s car is immaculate because he freaking _adores_ that car. Jared wouldn’t be surprised if he found out Bryce had given the car a name. Jared wouldn’t be surprised if he _talks_ to it when he doesn’t have a passenger who’d laugh his ass off at him.

Still, Jared’s pretty impressed it looks like this two days after the cleaner came. Jared’s seen Erin effortlessly undo an entire day’s cleaning in the course of an hour.

Now Jared’s wondering if it was a total mess last week. It makes him feel better to think that might have been the issue.

“Do you want to watch a movie or something?” Bryce asks. “I’ve got Netflix? And like, all the movie channels.”

Jared doesn’t, really, but he does want to sit tucked next to Bryce on the couch, and there’s a reason ‘Netflix and chill’ has become shorthand for hooking up. Plausible deniability, privacy, soft surface that you can get horizontal on? Check, check, and check — also Bryce’s couch is _huge_ , looks like the kind of butter soft leather that hugs your body the second you sit.

Turns out it does, and Jared’s kind of concerned he won’t be able to stand up ever again now that he’s sitting on it. That’s fine though. He’ll just live here now. He’s cool with that.

Bryce sits like a full foot away from him. That doesn’t work for Jared, so he scoots closer while Bryce pulls up Netflix, and Bryce seems startled when he turns his head to nearly knock it right into Jared’s.

“Uh,” Bryce says, then, “Anything you feel like watching?” 

“You pick,” Jared says, then bites back an ‘I’m easy’. Thanks for ruining _words_ , dad.

Bryce puts on some super generic action movie — like, generic enough that while it’s vaguely familiar and Jared _thinks_ he saw it in his hotel room on a roadie, he can’t actually swear to it. He probably fell asleep halfway through. So basically, Bryce picked the best movie ever for making out. Awesome.

Except he doesn’t make a move for the entire first half hour. His arm’s pressed against Jared’s, but not even as firmly as it was in the theatre before they were technically _anything_ , and when Jared shifts to press his thigh against Bryce’s, which he thinks as signs go is kind of an unmistakable one, Bryce doesn’t look away from the TV, and shifts away a little after a second.

Jared’s feeling rejected again, and it sucks more and more every time.

“Hey,” Jared says, then, “Bryce?” and when Bryce responds with an annoying absent sounding ‘hmm’, turning his head a little, Jared kisses him. Bryce kisses him back, which is an encouraging sign, except just as Jared deepens the kiss, Bryce pulls back.

“Don’t you want to watch the movie?” Bryce asks. 

“Um,” Jared says. “Not really?”

“Then why’d you—” Bryce says.

“I kind of thought this was a ‘Netflix and chill’ thing,” Jared says.

“Oh,” Bryce says. He pauses the movie. “Um. It wasn’t?”

“If you don’t want to—” Jared says. His parents being as wrong as they are about Bryce would usually make him happy, but the whole rejection thing is destroying any pleasure he’d get out of it.

Bryce laughs. “Yeah, that’s— really not the problem.”

“So there’s a problem,” Jared says.

“I just want to do this right,” Bryce says. “I don’t want to pressure you or anything.”

“Okay, but you’re definitely not pressuring me?” Jared says. “Like, it’s basically the opposite. I’m pretty sure I remember being the one sticking my hand down your pants yesterday.”

Which — didn’t end so well, but he’s happy to try again here, where presumably they’re safe from the sudden appearance of parents.

“So seriously,” Jared says. “Pressure away? I am totally cool with a repeat of that. Like. Minus the dad interruption, obviously.”

“I haven’t, like,” Bryce says, going red. “Done this before. With a guy, I mean. So I don’t know if, like— I don’t want to suck or whatever, especially because — I don’t want to suck.”

“I mean, I haven’t done this with anyone,” Jared says. “So if you suck, I’ll definitely suck more.”

“You don’t suck,” Bryce says before Jared’s even finished.

“In which case you won’t,” Jared says, and when Bryce blinks at him, “Logic: you can’t suck if I don’t suck.”

“Yeah, but you don’t know that,” Bryce says.

“I mean,” Jared says. “Like, I kind of get where you’re coming from but also I’m going to out on a limb here and assume you have at least some experience jerking off?”

“Uh,” Bryce says, blushing even brighter. It looks good on him, like, just this warm pink flush, not the neon sign splotchy mess that Jared’s face turns into. Jared’s so distracted by it he almost doesn’t call Bryce on the fact he’s fucking prevaricating about whether he jerks off with the _dude who jerked him off_ yesterday.

Almost. Because seriously.

“Dude, c’mon,” Jared says. 

“Okay, yeah,” Bryce says. “Yes.”

“So I mean,” Jared says. “Like, just saying I have confidence that I know my way around a dick more than I can know like, whether I suck at kissing or something, since that one’s out of the realm of my previous experience. So it should kind of be the same for you, right?”

“You don’t suck at kissing,” Bryce says quickly.

“I…wasn’t super worried?” Jared asks, though honestly once he said it aloud he was suddenly terrified he was and that was the secret problem or something. “But good.”

“Wait,” Bryce says, sounding panicked. “Do I suck at kissing?”

“ _No_ , oh my god,” Jared says. He leans forward, pressing his lips to where the corner of Bryce’s mouth is turning down. “Like,” he murmurs against Bryce’s cheek, his jaw, stubble slightly scratchy under his lips in a way that’s not unpleasant. “I’m saying you don’t suck, and if you don’t overthink it, it’ll be good. Like, I’m pretty into basically everything you do, so—”

Bryce catches his mouth before Jared can clarify that is totally kissing related only and that he is emphatically not into Bryce’s douchey popped collar polos or something. Though, fuck, he’s kind of a little into even those. That’s a sign he’s in way too deep, isn’t it?

For the record, other things he’s pretty into? The way Bryce’s eyes are a little hooded when he pulls back, the tiny mole Jared’s never noticed on the hinge of his jaw, the faintest trace of pink still blushing over his cheeks.

“Okay, so how about like — no plans,” Jared says. “But I kind of want to make out now that we’re actually in private, and if that doesn’t stop at making out I’m cool with that. If it does, I’m still cool with that, but I’m probably going to need to use your bathroom to jerk off. Cool?”

“ _Jesus_ , Jared,” Bryce says

“Honesty’s important in a relationship,” Jared says. “Or at least so I’ve heard.”

Jared’s kind of shocked what’s coming out of his own mouth, and that he hasn’t spontaneously combusted with embarrassment while saying it. It’s weird, because it’s like the more self-conscious Bryce seems, the less self-conscious Jared feels, while whenever Bryce does something that seems effortless or ten times more put together than Jared’s feeling Jared finds himself completely tongue tied around him, trips over his own tongue when he tries to talk. 

Maybe they’re spreading the confidence around or something? Because somehow Bryce is simultaneously a guy who just asked Jared if he sucked at kissing and a guy who got out of the relative safety of his car to introduce himself to Jared’s dad after the most mortifying moment of Jared’s life, and Jared doesn’t know how that works, but fuck, he likes both those guys _so much_.

“So does that work, or—” Jared says. Bryce kisses him once again in answer, and Jared decides he is completely fine if Bryce wants to replace the word yes with kissing for the foreseeable future.

*

Making out is _so much_ better when you’re not doing it in the cramped confines of a car. Like first, no awkwardly twisting around a console, so Jared’s way less likely to pull something, and no elbows knocking into the side door or the back of the chair, and, once in Bryce’s case, jamming his funny bone right into the steering wheel, and then desperately trying to massage feeling back into his arm while Jared bit his lip hard so he wouldn’t give into the urge to laugh at him. 

They’ve got time, and privacy, and room to manoeuvre, and it ratchets up a lot faster, maybe because of that, maybe because it’s hard not to have sex on the brain when you just spent five minutes talking about jerking off. There’s no sense of goodbye to this for the first time, more a prelude than anything, and Jared’s mouth is buzzing, blood pounding through him as Bryce’s hand slides down from his shoulder to the small of his back, his other hand twisting in Jared’s hair, Jared lighting up everywhere Bryce touches him.

And the guy asked if he sucked at kissing. Fucking ridiculous.

They’ve reached the point that Jared would have to haul himself back and get out of the car before he tried to climb into Bryce’s lap or hump his thigh or something, except Jared doesn’t have to do that for once. In fact, crawling into Bryce’s lap sounds like an awesome idea. Jared’s so smart.

“What—” Bryce mumbles as Jared pulls away, letting go of Jared, his hands hovering before landing on his hips, steadying Jared as he swings a leg over.

“Is this cool or—” Jared says, before he settles his weight on Bryce’s thighs.

“Yeah,” Bryce says, hands squeezing tight, fingers catching a exposed sliver of skin between Jared’s shirt and his shorts, and Jared shivers, muffles a noise in Bryce’s mouth when Bryce’s hands, after a clear moment of hesitation, slide down to his ass, pulling him in tighter. 

It’s suddenly really hard to focus his attention on kissing, because he can feel Bryce hard against the inside of his thigh, Bryce’s hands fucking _huge_ , tight on his ass, and once again Jared’s very much at the point of humping Bryce’s leg — well, maybe his abs, in this position — but that is both undignified and pathetic, so he pulls back instead, says, “God, take your fucking pants off.”

“I can’t,” Bryce says. 

“Fuck, do you want to stop, or—”

“No,” Bryce says. “Like — I really, really don’t.”

“I’m not coming in my shorts,” Jared says. “I refuse to be that teenage cliche. So if you’re not gonna, I’m —”

“I _can’t_ ,” Bryce interrupts. “You’re _sitting on me_.”

That — is fair.

“Point,” Jared says, and rolls onto the couch beside him, already dimly missing Bryce’s hands. “Pants now.”

Jared didn’t really get a good look in the car, but Bryce wears these clingy little boxer briefs that barely contain his thighs, and definitely don’t do much of anything to hide his hard on, and Jared should have a proper game plan here, but basically the second he kicks his shorts to the floor he’s getting his hand in Bryce’s underwear. 

He doesn’t get that cognitive dissonance he did in the car, that self-conscious ‘whoa, what am I doing’, it’s just straight up sensation, brain suddenly cataloguing everything — the way Bryce inhales, shaky, and the sticky wet at the head, Bryce’s thigh jumping a little when Jared rubs his thumb over it, spreads it around, and how hot it is, like, yeah, the situation, but also literally, and Jared wonders if he pulled him out of his underwear if his dick would be the same blushing pink or a violent —

“Fuck,” Bryce says, then tugs Jared in closer by his shirt — why is he still wearing a shirt, why are either of them wearing shirts, Jared wants to _see_ him, but to change that he’d have to let go of him and he’s not interested in doing that — and slides a hand in Jared’s boxers, wraps a hand around him, and — fuck.

It is really hard to pay attention to absolutely anything but Bryce’s hand around his dick, but Jared can’t exactly go ‘stop distracting me, I’m trying to do a good job’, partly because that’s probably something you shouldn’t say, but mostly because there is no fucking universe in which he’s going to tell Bryce to take his hand off his dick, he’s not insane.

“God, you’re so fucking hot,” Bryce says. Jared’s always hated guys talking in porn, thinks it sounds cheap and fake, ruins the mood, but he emphatically does not mind it right now, Bryce’s voice low, a little raspy, breath hot against his ear. “Next time I want to do this in my bed, get you laid out—”

Jared is not proud of how fast he comes. At all.

“Shit, sorry,” Jared mumbles, as soon as he can say words.

Bryce kisses him hard, all teeth, and Jared clings to him with his free hand for a minute before he remembers he was kind of supposed to be doing something. Jared tightens his hand, starts a too dry stroke that can’t be great, except that it’s like Bryce can’t focus on kissing him when he’s doing it, breath coming faster, hot against his mouth until Bryce ducks his head a little, open mouth, a hint of teeth again, against Jared’s neck, and this is a really stupid, competitive thing to note, but uh — Bryce doesn’t last all that long either, so at least Jared doesn’t have to die of shame for a second time today?

Bryce presses a kiss against Jared’s shoulder as Jared pulls his hand out of his underwear, dimly wondering what he’s supposed to do with a handful of jizz. Like, he can’t wipe it off on his clothes, he’s got to wear them home, and it feels rude to get up and —

“I’ve got—” Bryce says, then reaches beside the couch to grab a box of Kleenex, like he’s read Jared’s mind. Or, alternately, like he’s got the exact same problem.

“Can you stick around?” Bryce asks, as they wipe their hands off. “Like, I don’t know if—”

“I don’t have to be anywhere until curfew,” Jared says.

“Good,” Bryce says. “You hungry?”

“Starving,” Jared says. He’d say it was the orgasm, but it’s basically just his default.

“I’ll grab some menus,” Bryce says, getting up. Jared bets he’s got a whole drawer full of them.

“Just for the record,” Jared says, as Bryce is tugging his pants back on, like he’s got to be fully dressed to go get menus, a belief Jared emphatically does not share, “Like, in case you’re wondering? You did not suck. At all.”

The smile Bryce shoots his way is almost shy, no teeth like his usual grin, and Jared finds himself beaming like an idiot just looking at it. 

Must be the endorphins or something.


End file.
